Have you noticed that this is the time of the great sporting events; one is glued to one’s chair watching the test, or ooh-ing and ah-ing at the terrific tennis women, or gaping at the galaxy of golfers?
This has made for a disjointed conversation in our house—and some sharp interrogation.
“How is it you watch tennis when Sue Barker is serving?”
“Well, I thought I would watch it for a change.”
“But usually you’re rivetted to the Test Why aren’t you watching the moustached and agile Rodney Marsh?”
“Because I’m watching the attractive and agile Sue Barker.”
“If you ask me the reason you’re watching Sue Barker has nothing to do with tennis.”
Departure of interrogator in a huff. She returns later.
“What are you watching now?”
“I’m watching Big Bird bowling.”
“But I though birdies were only in golf.”
Affectionate name
“Dearest, Big Bird is the affectionate name for the tall West Indian Joel Garner now playing cricket for SA.”
Deep intake of breath by interrogator
“Why isn’t he back in the West Indies and why is Greg Chappell playing for Queensland when he is really a South Australian and that Kepler Wessels person, why is he playing for Queensland when he is really a South African and why is?”
“Look dear, I think I can hear something boiling over in your kitchen.”
“That’s right. Send your lackey away Slaves to the galley, you television watching male chauvinist cricket pig.”
Interrogator again departs in a huff
She returns later
“What are you watching now?”
“I’m watching Marsh playing golf”
“But last time you were watching Marsh he was playing cricket Where are his wicket keeping gloves?”
“This is not Rodney but his brother, Graham. He has just hit a big birdie.”
“But you said Big Birdie was a West Indian playing for SA.”
“That’s Big Bird. This is a golfing Marsh playing a golfing birdie.”
“Look,” she says, why don’t you switch that awful machine off s0 we can have five minutes of sane, simple, unconfused conversation?”
So I switch it off.
“Now,” she says, “have I got it straight? Big Bird is a West Indian and big birdie is what Graham Marsh hits when he isn’t Rodney behind wickets. Meanwhile South Australian Greg Chappell is actually a Queenslander with Wessels.”
“It is pronounced vessels as in ‘vessels” I explain.
Turning nasty
“Very vell,” she says, turning nasty, “I shan’t vorry you vith my vomanly inwective. But sure as heaven I intend to vatch some telewision of my own.”
I turn on the television and stand protectively in front of it, weiwing this wessel of vrath.
“Sue Barker has been eliminated,” says the announcer’s voice.
“That’s a start,” says my wife.
“Now we only have to eliminate Big Bird, the Marshes Greg Chappell. Wessels pronounced ‘vessels’ and also people who are lazy layabouts.”
That’s the reason I’m in hiding behind the oleander bush.
My earphone is plugged into my transistor and my body covered with leaves as camouflage.
Meanwhile, Sue and Joel, Kepler and Greg, Rodney and Graham and Richie and all
Keep vell and see you again, soon.
Max Fatchen